


Wanderer

by sevensilvermagpies



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Selkie AU, a tragic romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 07:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25346860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensilvermagpies/pseuds/sevensilvermagpies
Summary: He hadn’t meant to stay for so long above the surface.He hadn’t meant to wander so far.He hadn’t meant to give it away. But they were 20 years on the road, the witcher and him, waxing and waning like the tide and the strand. Wandering together or apart, but always finding their paths flowing into each other.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 95





	Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaned up this ficlet from tumblr.
> 
> Enjoy

He hadn’t meant to stay for so long above the surface. He had only ever meant to wander through, a every moving whisper on the wind’s current. Curiosity had swelled within his chest with each snatch of song that made its way to his ears, muffled as it was by the water and rain. To walk amongst the crowds of men, to listen to their stories of the deep earth and warm fire, to know what they sang of his home, that was all he desired. His curiosity had never ebbed, always flowing, thrumming through his veins until he almost burst from his skin, spat out of the sea on the waning tide in a flail of limbs. 

Walking had been an experience, and not a pleasant one, for the first few weeks, but steadily the shakey shuffle had given way to a swinging gait. All hips and smooth movements, as close to swimming as he could get without tripping over himself and getting a mouthful of earth. Not quite the way humans walked, but a close enough approximation that Jaskier felt confident enough to stride up from the safety of the shore and onto the dirt track beyond.

That had been a mistake. Near every traveller threw him a look of disgust and shock, till one kindly woman threw him a blanket and took him into town.

How was he supposed to have known that human fashion had moved on from when his mother had come above the water? And become so complicated at that, with so many layers of scratchy wool, and rough linens beneath. But oh how the bright colours of the silks enticed him, how he wanted to weave himself into the cloth and settle there as if it were his own pelt. 

He hadn’t meant to wander so far. But silks were expensive, and his warning songs of shipwrecks and foolhardy sailors wouldn't bring in the coin he required. Slowly his feet had carried him further and further inland, surely as a current pulls at the sand. 

Admittedly his first attempts to make human appropriate songs hadn’t gone over too well. Their thrown bread had struck him like stone, and their harshest words like the sharpest harpoon, and their knives one time too many had come close to slashing his precious pelt where it was tucked deep in his bag as they robbed him of his gold. Attempted to rob him. For seals are predators after all, quick of fin and strong of jaw.

Still, he needed to get home soon he told himself. Danger only grew with the years spent wandering; too long from the sea and the land begins to see you as one of her own, drawing all the water from your body and leaving you weak and foolish as a human. Worse still if one of  _ them _ caught wind of what you were, what you carried.

He hadn’t meant to give it away. But they were 20 years on the road, the witcher and him, waxing and waning like the tide and the strand. Wandering together or apart, but always finding their paths flowing into each other. It had just been safer, at one point or another, to lie his pelt across Roach’s back in the baking heat of the summer between her and the rough saddle, so he could ride with Geralt always.

So no, he had never made mention of it explicitly. It was not the sort of thing you told on a whim, even to one who had shared everything he had with you, hate it as the other might. One day, Jaskier had promised himself, he would take him to the coast and roll him tight in the embrace of the sea. They could both be at home there, his witcher strong and bold as the ocean wind, could find peace at the edge of the world. Then he climbed a mountain, till he was furthest from his home that he had ever been, in the realm of dragon fire and scorched earth. And his witcher had turned on an East wind towards another port.

He hadn’t meant to leave it behind.

**Author's Note:**

> This is such a fun premise, I'd love to expand on it someday. Until then there's this.


End file.
